


Feels Like London

by esteoflorien



Series: Follower Fic Fest: February 2015 (Angst) [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-27
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-15 13:28:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3448856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esteoflorien/pseuds/esteoflorien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sarah would have recognized Lady Grantham's silhouette anywhere, even now, these five years later.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feels Like London

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mysticalmorgana](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=mysticalmorgana).



> For mysticalmorgana, who prompted: Corah, meeting again after a long while at a wedding.

Sarah would have recognized Lady Grantham's silhouette anywhere, even now, these five years later. Could it possibly have even been that long? Sarah marvels. But then, the more she reflects on her time in service, first with Lady Grantham and then with Lady Flintshire, before striking out on her own, the more she's convinced that time passes differently in those grand old houses. They remain stagnant, preserved in a glorious façade of aging gentility, while outside the world spins with ever increasing speed towards a future that she herself could not have imagined when she was safely ensconced at Downton Abbey.

Lady Grantham has changed, that much is certain: her hair is bobbed, her hat is far more modest, her skirt hangs fashionably above her ankles. Still, this, young Daisy's second wedding, is the very last place she had expected to meet Lady Grantham, even though Lady Grantham had always been funny about her servants. Sarah had been taken in by her manner, as had others. There had been moments during her time at Downton Abbey when it had been almost possible to think of Lady Grantham as a friend. She had known herself to be her ladyship's closest confidant, at the very least, and certainly for herself she had shared far more with Lady Grantham than with any other. And yet it was illusory; she knew that now that she worked for herself, counting fine ladies like the Countess of Grantham as her clients, not to mistresses to be waited upon.

When the card arrived, she'd been surprised to have been invited at all. But she supposed she had been something of a help to Daisy, even if only by not being as rudely condescending as much of the staff. She'd considered sending a small gift in lieu of attending, but the opportunity to see the others - and more importantly, to be seen by them - was too good to pass up. She feelslike London now, as if the vibrancy and busyness and potential of the capital flows through her like the rushing water of the Thames snakes through the city. She has caught a glimpse of herself in shop windows, and she sees the change as well: she looks like London just as much as she feels it, and she knows that all of them, from Carson and Hughes all the way to Thomas, still looking down his nose in a footman's uniform, can see it too.

The service is lovely; William's father gives Daisy away, and her new husband acknowledges him as respectfully as he might if he were his own father. They seem suited, Daisy and her farmer, and Sarah gathers that the young man intends to work Mr. Mason's land for him as well. It occurs to her that this would be the kind of marriage she would want to have, had she been the marrying type, and she finds herself glad to have come, to be able to wish them happiness in their lives together.

She watches Lady Grantham surreptitiously throughout the short ceremony; her Ladyship is sat off to the side, without any fanfare. Were it not for the fineness of her dress, one would not have noticed her at all. She had envied that capacity for adapting to a particular environment. Lady Grantham had always struck her as having a particular talent for it, whereas she had always felt like the odd woman out - until, of course, London.

As the happy couple makes their way down the aisle , their guests stream from the pews to follow them into the garden, ready to shower them with rice. Sarah detests this custom, and declined to take a little cone of rice before entering the church. Instead, she reasons, she can leave quietly through the side entrance, and, with any luck, catch the 5:00 train to the city. She is not the visiting kind, after all; it is enough to have made an appearance, to have sparked the interest of her former superiors, and to have wished Daisy well. She adjusts her hat and pins her scarf - a neatly hemmed scrap of silk remaining from a baroness's tea dress, the kind she'd never before thought to feel draped about her neck - before making her way to the door.

"Miss O'Brien?" Lady Grantham's voice is tentative, as if she is not quite certain of Sarah's identity.

"My lady?" Sarah replies, because it's only polite, now, to feign ignorance of her ladyship's attendance at the ceremony.

"I had not expected to see you here, Miss O'Brien," Lady Grantham continues. "But what a lovely surprise."

"I might say the same, my Lady," Sarah replies. "I'm very glad to see you again."

"As am I," says Lady Grantham. "After all, you left in such haste I never had time to say goodbye."

"I didn't know how. I took the coward's way out, and -"

"Disappeared," Lady Grantham supplies. "I appreciated your note, however."

"It was something I had to do," Sarah says firmly.

"I understand. Mrs. Hughes tells me you're a businesswoman now?"

"I've established myself as a seamstress, yes."

"But London's so very far," Lady Grantham observes.

"London is farther than I ever thought I'd go. Some days I think it's farther than India from where I started."

Lady Grantham smiles, gently, the kind of smile Sarah used to pine over, once upon a time.

"Come to London," Sarah blurts, before she can think the better of it, because it's so very easy to pretend as if the past five years didn't exist, and Cora Crawley, beyond all reason, is still her closest friend. "Come to London, and I shall show you the city." And my shop, she adds, in her head, feeling increasingly like a clumsy teenager grappling for words. For that is what she meant to say, of course. Lady Grantham has been spending the season in London far longer than Sarah has called it home, after all. She has no need to be taken about like a tourist by her former lady's maid.

"I should like that," Lady Grantham replies, and it sounds perfectly genuine. "I often feel as if London escapes me, these days."

Sarah fumbles for her calling card from her purse - _oh, how proud she was, when she collected these from the printer_ \- and presses it into Lady Grantham's hand. "Come to London, then."

She doesn't make it a habit to put stock in wishful thinking, but when Lady Grantham carefully slips the card inside her silver case, and murmurs _I shall_ , Sarah believes her.


End file.
